


coffee and conversation

by namarupa



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Bullying, F/M, Gen, school setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:16:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/namarupa/pseuds/namarupa
Summary: Coach Snow quietly shut the teacher's meeting room door. The lock turned with a decisive click, he pivoted around to face her, leaning against the wood and it was then that Sansa knew it was a bad idea to have her breakdown in the kitchenette- at eight o'clock everybody was going to want caffeine like a shot to the veins.Teacher Sansa Stark shares her student troubles with her too-attractive colleague Jon Snow over some good coffee.





	coffee and conversation

**Author's Note:**

> Took this down for reworking and now it's back up. Enjoy!
> 
>  
> 
> **Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the G.R.R. Martin. I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any previously copyrighted material. No copyright infringement is intended.**
> 
>  
> 
> Originally published: 10/09/2017

 

 

Sansa quietly poured boiling hot water into her mug which held some coffee powder, and tried to imagine it was Cersei Baratheon's head. Of course, she didn't get very far. Some reticence deep inside of her prevented her from truly imagining graphic punishment meted out to Cersei, ala fire ants up her bonafide silk underwear- Seven knew how deserving that Woman was of it. Sometimes she wished she had Arya's gift of straight talk. Today she could have looked Mrs. Baratheon in the eye and tell her to pull her ass out of her head, and quite sincerely, to fuck off.

Her ears had blistered with all the vile things coming out of Cersei's mouth, and the way she looked at Sansa made her feel two feet tall, like she was a silly twit of a girl and not a grown woman of twenty three who'd already graduated university and lived on her own for several years. She doubted the esteemed Mrs. Baratheon ever had to work a day in her life, never had to draw out budgets and pinch pennies and do crazy things to save on the heating system in winter, never had to leave home two hours early to beat morning rush and rely on decidedly unreliable public transport. Daddy's money kept all the hinges oiled; she'd never had her whole world fall out from under her-

The unfairness got to her, the sheer gall of having to look composedly on while her reputation got torn to shreds in front of Headmaster Seaworth. Sansa gave in, set her mug down with a thunk! and for once let the sting in her eyes turn to actual tears. She stood gripping the counter, the plastic lining digging into her palms and bowed her head, counting out ten seconds in the hope it would award her some composure.

"Miss Stark?"

Dear god, she didn't want to turn around, but Coach Snow's husky voice sounded so soft and concerned. A wild part of her wanted to throw her arms around the shoulders she'd been actively ogling for the past two months and just wail into his chest.

But she wasn't a child, she wasn't what Mrs. Baratheon accused her of being. So she hastily scrubbed her face with the backs of her hands, thankful for her lack of mascara this morning and made herself face Coach Snow. He took her in from top to bottom, his features pulled tight. He looked almost, well, in a temper and even in her black mood Sansa could appreciate how it did good things for him. Dangerous men and all that.

"Sorry, you needed something?" Sansa asked, hoping he didn't. She wanted to be alone and mope and not have him see her sob all over the linoleum.

"Just wanted to check up on you," he replied, running a hand through his admittedly gorgeous hair. Who let PE teachers wear man-buns on school grounds anyway? Sansa had people to thank.

"Oh, why would you need to do that?"

She had a sinking suspicion why. Coach Snow quietly shut the teacher's meeting room door. The lock turned with a decisive click, he pivoted around to face her, leaning against the wood and it was then that Sansa knew it was a bad idea to have her breakdown in the kitchenette- at eight o'clock everybody was going to want caffeine like a shot to the veins. 

"I was in the waiting room, Roslin told me you were inside with Davos...and I heard screaming. Are you alright?"

Sansa screwed up her eyes in irritation. She wanted to hold on to the feeling, but it faded fast and suddenly she just felt drained, drained, drained. Fatigued before the morning bell. Gods. 

"Roslin wasn't supposed to mention anything about that. To anyone."

"She didn't really," said Coach Snow. "Your name sort of slipped out, barely two letters and then she did that thing with her eyes. You know, that scared rabbit look."

Sansa had to laugh. "You caught my name in just two letters? Well done, Sherlock!"

He didn't take to the quip. "I'd have known it, Sansa."

He was still looking at her like that, as if he was invested in her at this moment, and if she reached up do something absurd like scratch her armpit he wouldn't look away. The awful part was, Sansa didn't want him to.

They'd been skirting around each other ever since he came to take over the PE classes, leaning over shoulders, catching the tail end of the other's stares, showing off an easy camaraderie in front of the students until someone let slip they had a betting pool going for them as a couple. 

Last she checked with Frey the 13th, a surprisingly nice product courtesy of old Walder Frey's shenanigans, wagers were at an all-time high. Right now Jon's butter-melting gaze was turning her attention away from the morning's horror and towards gymnastic pursuits she was better off dreaming about in her nice single-lady bed. All distinctly unprofessional. _But_ , said a sly voice that sounded too much like Arya for comfort, _what's professional about today anyway? You could use whatever he's offering_.

"I made some terrible coffee," she said finally, holding up her lukewarm mug. "If you want to brew up a real pot, Jon, I'll toss this away and we can have a chat about the banshee in the HM's room," she continued, desperately thinking ' _pleasedontblushpleasedontblush_ '.

He merely raised his eyebrows and nodded, a small smile lightening his features, and Sansa let herself dwell on the fullness of his lips and their generous curve. While he set up the staff's adorable but admittedly banged up moka pot and opened up a bag of fine grinded beans-Miss Missandei their resident Valyrian teacher's contribution of a luxurious Sumatran roast bulk-smuggled out in her luggage- Sansa pulled out a chair and sat, scratching aimlessly on the surface of the long conference table with a slightly chipped fingernail. She observed her hands with a grimace. It was a wonder she hadn't gnawed straight through them with the stress of the past few days. At least her mother wasn't around to see this, she thought guiltily, almost hearing the admonition in Mama's soft Riverlander accent.

She chanced a look at Jon as he pottered about. His own nails were neat, cut short and well kept. Everything about him was neat and well kept. Clothes ironed, shoes always clean even after a furiously muddy game of football. How he looked so delicious and still keep that puppy dog aura about him she didn't know, but it was a dangerous combination, and here she was about to have coffee with him. Alone! _Shut up_ , she told herself. _You sound like a thirteen year old_. She sounded like _Sansa_ at thirteen. She never wanted to be that age again.

She heard teaspoons clinking, the bubble and rumble of the percolator, and then he set down a new mug in front of her. The delicious aroma wafting from it went straight up her nose, invigorating her.

He dragged his chair a little closer, and they sat a little huddled with their feet hooked behind the rungs of the chairs. Sansa felt a full blown smile approaching at the sight of Jon looking like one of the first years huddling over cocoa and biscuits, blowing at his mug, his cheeks puffed up.

She quickly ducked her head down and took the handle of her mug when he directed her a questioning glance. She brought it to her lips and took a sip. The smell did not disappoint, the taste was full and robust, sweet and bitter and mildly acidic, flavors chasing down her tongue.

"Amazing, Jon," she pronounced, "you might have to make my morning cup everyday now. Did you ever work as a barista, by any chance?"

"Wouldn't be a problem," he grinned. " And yes to the question. My university roommate used to swear by my coffee. Said it was the one thing that would get him through finals week."

"Your roommate was a lucky man. No one in my dorm room even owned a percolator. We made do with instant and energy drinks. Once my friend combined them both and ended up streaking through our floor. When we finally caught her she said she was chasing the sound waves in the air."

He gave a snort of laughter, and Sansa found herself wanting to giggle right along with him, maybe even nuzzle his cheeks, they lifted so adorably above his beard. The intense urge to act on that want jolted her a little and she restrained herself to sipping her coffee and thanking Mya's exuberance for supplying her the story. For the most part university was a staid, plodding existence with rare, snatched moments of luxury, and when Sansa graduated she had a dearth of bad, comedy-gold stories to tell and a horde of boring ones.

They drank in a companionable silence, until Sansa almost forgot why they were sitting together in the first place. The memory of Mrs. Baratheon's screwed up face, mottled red, flashed before her eyes and she winced. Apparently visibly, since Jon now sat back and watched her, his expression eerily reminiscent of Pyp, one of their special ed teachers. 

"You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to," he said gently but Sansa shook her head, setting her mug down. Her hands went to her knees, what Robb called her 'good girl prepares to bullshit' posture and one she always reverted to when she wanted to confront something displeasing.

"I think I'd feel better if I did, honestly. But to be fair nothing of what I'm going to say can reach anyone else, until certain decisions can be made."

"Absolutely," Jon nodded.

"Right." Sansa took a deep breath. "For the past week, I suspected Joffrey Baratheon of bullying his cousin."

"Joff I know. He's got a fat head. Entitled. But I don't know the cousin."

"Rosamund Lannister?" She said. "She's some kind of second cousin, but the Lannisters are all supposedly a close knit family. Cersei Baratheon's a Lannister," she explained. And saw that tight expression come back in full force. He must have realized who was doing the shouting. You'd have to be blind or in a Baratheon pocket not to realize how uppity Cersei could be. Sansa knew Jon was aware of her attitude after the conversation they'd had at the latest parent-teacher meetings. She'd turned down her nose at Jon the moment she found out he'd grown up in the Black Brother Foundation.

"Go on," he said darkly,

"Well, I couldn't be sure, because I would see her cry once or twice but I never caught him in the act. His sister Myrcella came to me three days ago and said that Joffrey was being mean to Ros but didn't know how, so I made him apologize to Ros and tried to have a chat with him. Bullying and all that. He seemed very contrite and mentioned how he was jealous because Myrcella was spending more time with Ros than she did with him, and he was upset about it. I told him how it wasn't fair to anyone to be on the end of bullying or meanness like that, and that he really hurt Ros. You know, guidebook stuff," she ended self-deprecatingly.

Jon nodded understandingly. "Guidebook stuff, but it's in the book for a reason, Sansa."

Oh how Sansa wished it'd ended just like that. "I know, but this is one of those few times when it just _didn't_ help."

"He agreed and promised to have an honest talk with Myrcella, and I reminded him that anymore talk of that kind of behaviour and I'd have to call in his parents. Ros seemed quite alright too, after he apologized."

She recited it all, just like she'd done in front of the HM, and her hands started trembling in memory of what came after. Jon didn't interrupt her, though she could tell he wasn't happy with the direction her story was taking.

"Then yesterday, I left school quite late in the evening. I took a shortcut through the back of the gym, near the Dragonpit, and I saw them both. Rosamund was _kneeling,_ and Joffrey was on his feet in front of her just screaming in her face. He was calling her the most awful names, Jon," she broke off, the shock of it hitting her all over again, the shock of hearing all that toxic, hateful vitriol spewing out of Joffrey Baratheon's mouth like he'd been speaking it fluently for years, the shock of Rosamund sitting there silently, just taking it.

She felt Jon take her hand in a warm, strong grip. "What kind of names?"

When she looked at him she had the sudden thought that this man wouldn't give two hoots about flattening somebody who mistreated girls, or anyone for that matter. It left goosebumps on her flesh, the absolutely furious flat line of his mouth and his eyes a blank slate of grey.

"Nothing a boy of thirteen should know much less speak, and nothing a girl or woman should ever have to hear in hate."

He'd called her a fuck cunt, among other things, and the way he said it, his well formed lips curving around the first part and ending on the last syllable with a snap; he'd relished it, and to Sansa the horrifying knowledge dawned that he knew just exactly what he was calling that girl, in the worst of it's meaning.

"Verbal abuse," Jon finally said. "Gods," he breathed, slumping in his seat. Sansa wanted to follow his example. Ros was just eleven. Sansa'd felt a strange fear when she'd pulled Ros away from her third year cousin, as she stared at Joffrey's thin, suddenly cruel bones near sticking out of his face and his bared teeth.

"And who knows what else. I believe Joffrey's capable of more. Rosamund refuses to tell, and her parents are playing dumb," she said.

"What?"

Sansa shrugged. The politics of it all made her head ache. "Joffrey's parents Robert and Cersei are from old families in the area. Mr. Baratheon runs a big company, Baratheon Metalworks, and Ros's father works for him, and Mrs. Baratheon must have either threatened to jeopardize his career or she's given Ros's parents cause to think so. I don't think Mr. Baratheon's all that aware of it. He may be a boor but he seems quite hard on his son," she added as an afterthought. Though what did it matter? All his pompous talk of discipline and his son was an abuser in the making, probably he already was. If Cersei told him he'd probably turn around and blame his wife and her Lannister blood, and it'd churn in a toxic cycle all over again.

"That is such bullshit, Sansa. They can't just hush it all up," his voice rose with indignation.

"That's what I think too, Jon," Sansa said tiredly. "I tried to hold Joffrey and Rosamund back after I found them yesterday. I got hold of Mrs Baratheon and Mrs Lannister and I was trying to contact HM but Mrs. Baratheon just came barreling in and had Mrs. Lannister on the phone to back her up, and well..I got frightened by her," she ended a little shamefacedly. And she was ashamed. She had a duty as a teacher, to ensure her students were sound of body and mind, and watching Mrs. Baratheon tow away Ros with Joffrey sauntering beside her, she knew she'd failed. She'd failed Rosamund.

"Oh, Sansa. You had the the right of it. You saw it happen."

It felt like a gentle reproach, but one she deserved. They had protocols for this and she let a misguided woman crowd her and silence her. Oh, god she felt her emotions welling up again. "I did, didn't I?" Sansa said, not really expecting a reply. Jon flushed a deep pink, and he leaned in with an earnest expression.

"As far as we're all concerned you are one of the most conscientious teachers around. My first week here people were warning me about you. Said it was impossible to not to like you, and I think- I know it's true," he said quickly. "You're well spoken of and  your classes get good results. Pyp and Grenn think the world of you for what you do with the hearing impaired kids. Everytime we go out it's almost all they talk about. They all love the new dance program."

"That's our job, Jon. We teach children. What did I teach Ros Lannister? That stupid blonde boys can call her terrible names and get away with it? That her own parents won't stand up for her?"

He didn't answer her. Just held on to her hand and let her blink away her tears and try to control the rise and fall of her chest. Her agitation flowed and ebbed, spurred on by the sheer gall of Cersei Baratheon trying to defend that malicious son of hers, when Sansa had seen his actions with her own eyes.

"Still doesn't explain the ruckus this morning," Jon said, breaking into her mulling. Sansa pulled herself together, at the reassuring squeeze of his fingers.

"Oh that. I called the Dadvos immediately after Mrs Baratheon pulled her nonsense, and he said he'd look into it. He set up a meeting today, but only Mrs Baratheon showed up, and she brought some nonsensical letter with statements," she quote unquote the word, "from Ros and her mother saying the matter was resolved and asking us not to push it any further."

The look Jon leveled her was nothing short of incredulous.

"I know." Sansa put up her hands. "Its like something out of a morning soap. Anyway, Mrs. Baratheon started calling me names. Basically tried to bluff her way out of the whole thing until Dadvos defended me and shut her down."

"Good ol' Dadvos." Jon smiled wryly.

"Mm. You can always count on him to be fair."

"Anyway, end of story, once she realized things weren't going her way she threatened me and stormed out."

Jon sat back, and Sansa recognized the same shocked, slightly disgusted twist of his features for her own when things had escalated. 

"In what way did she threaten you?"

"The usual: job. Her father contributes a lot to our funding, you know. And he's an influential member of the local set. She insinuated that things could get ugly if we didn't bury the issue. She also insulting my reputation and my intelligence, and my upbringing." Sansa gave a short, slightly bitter laugh. "Not unusual coming from the likes of her."

"The bitch," Jon muttered, taking a gulp of his coffee and setting it down none too gently. Sansa selfishly allowed his remark to boost her low spirits, it felt so good to have him on her side. She felt she was being incredibly fair minded in relating the events too, Cersei had said some terrible things and Sansa had not even once broke any conduit of professionality, even when the insults had come flying hard and fast.

"I blame the father for this fiasco almost as much as the mother. Joffrey's learnt his behaviour from some place and on top of that he's two-faced. I really want a Maester to weigh in on this and the Dadvos agrees. He said as much."

"Going to build a case on the boy, then?"

"I hope so. Dadvos didn't say much but I think it's coming. He'll probably call a staff meeting sometime today."

"Good," Jon said firmly, reached for his mug and sipped the last of his coffee. "In any case I'll make sure to keep a look out for Joffrey. If anything comes up I'll get back to you. Dadvos won't hear anything from me until he's called an official case," he smiled at Sansa. Oh, her heart stuttered. He was too sweet for his own good.

"Thank you," she said, trying to put all her gratefulness in those scant two words, and was rewarded by the sudden cough and embarrassed slide of Jon's eyes away from her face, shyly and yet slowly, as if he didn't want to at all. So she did have the same effect on him as he did her?

She drained her mug, and gathered up her courage. "Sometimes I wish I had my sister's penchant for delivering an amazing tongue-lashing," she began, and then said, "she'd have left Mrs Baratheon grovelling for mercy, and Joffrey would've been scared out of his mind to ever try anything again."

"She sounds like a character, your sister."

"She is." Sansa circled the rim of her mug with her fingers. "In fact, she's coming for a visit this weekend. Flying up from Braavos this evening. I'm due to meet her, and I thought we could do dinner tonight," glancing at from beneath her lids, his genial face and his relaxed posture. "Maybe you'd like to join us?"

"Oh," said Jon, his lips parting. "I wouldn't be intruding?"

Sansa shook her head firmly, she invited him didn't she? and she honestly thought it would be nice for Jon and Arya to meet, and she was sure Arya would recognize a lot of daddy's qualities in Jon, which was what drew Sansa to him in the first place, the familiarity of him running helter skelter same as his football charges, seeking her out on advice about yoga poses for girls on their period with nary a blink of an eye, that sterling patience speaking with stuttering, asthmatic Robin Arryn, handling his moods with firm kindness. She wanted Jon to meet Bran and Rickon and most of all Robb, she wanted him at the annual family gathering, where she could glance at their passing figures in a mirror and think, why we look a little like mummy and daddy used to, like fire and coal together.

She wanted to say it all but it was insanity, she'd only met him four months ago, so she got up and went to the sink, taking both of their mugs to wash. 

"Sansa?" Jon's was at her elbow. She turned and smiled at him, willing him to accept.

"Honestly, you're very welcome. Arya would love to meet you." It'd be good to put it all away for just an evening, and tomorrow she'd plot battle plans with her little sister to get Ros some justice.

"It's Friday, after all," Sansa quipped. "A girl ought to have her fun on a Friday," and felt something, like sweet liquid chocolate down her throat, when Jon's face lightened at being the idea of her 'fun' on a weekend.

"I'll gladly accept, then," he said, and they couldn't seem to stop grinning at each other. The school was nearly empty this early in the morning, the silence enveloped them, in their companionable bubble Sansa failed to resist the impulse to kiss Jon Snow's cheek, the half of a pair that had been tormenting her ever since he first walked into the staffroom. She reached up, and her lips pressed softly against his skin, right against his cheekbone, and she felt the heat, the scent of him in that brief second, the flare of his eyes hot on her lips as if he were touching them with his own, and then Sansa placed the two mugs back on the rack.

"Thank you," she said. "For the coffee, for the company. You've made me feel so much better about everything."

"I'm glad," Jon murmured. He hadn't stopped looking at her. Just that simple sentence, uttered in that meltingly lovely voice, and Sansa had to cross the room on slightly trembly legs to unlock and open the door. She turned back to him, "I'll see you at the end of school, then? We could go get Arya together."

"I'd like that," he said, and Sansa tried not to dash out as the assembly bell began clanging, the sound of it ringing in her ears like Sept chimes.

* * *

 

Headmaster Seaworth did in fact call a meeting that Friday. Dadvos, as his staff affectionately called him behind his back but not without his knowledge (actually he quite liked it), outlined the events concerning Ros Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon, and several teachers who had him in their classes were put on watch duty to observe his every movement.

They were getting a Maester to approach the Lannisters independently and Brienne Tarth, disgusted after hearing Sansa Stark's account of Mrs. Baratheon's tunnel visioned defense of her son, suggested getting in touch with the Watch to build a proper case. The concern of his staff heartened him. Davos felt certain they were going to get justice for little Ros. Here at Weirwood School they took their charges' welfare seriously, and Davos' own experience in the slums of Flea Bottom had left him with a determined idea of what proper education consisted.

As the meeting concluded, Miss Melisandre the librarian, who subscribed to a faith that left her incredibly knowledgeable about certain cleansing rituals, jokingly offered to have them prepared for Joffrey's sake. At least, she seemed to. But Coach Snow, the newest addition to staff, didn't look convinced- though the horrified look he gave Miss Melisandre that sent the table into amused titters made a welcome change from the moon eyes he kept shooting Miss Stark.

**Author's Note:**

> So PSA; if you encounter anyone as toxic as Cersei and Joffrey are portrayed in this fic I suggest you inform someone, contact the proper authorities and keep your distance. Just, get out of the relationship as fast as you can if the other party is not interested in giving you courtesy or respect. Anyway Comment, Kudos, Flame, etc. Let me know what you think :)


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